Walk once again
by TeddyTR
Summary: Wes wakes up in a hospital. He's been shot. A certain someone sits beside his bed. Normally, there would be nothing wrong with this picture. Except after what happened...
1. Chapter 1

This fic has a nice fanmix (based on what I listened to while writing it), so try the two together if you feel like it!  
/teddyd/walk-once-again/

* * *

Wes wakes up to an insanely intense throbbing.

"Ah, shit…" he groans.

And suddenly, there's a too familiar voice, far too close to his side.

"Yeah, man, that must hurt like hell."

Wes forgets that he should breathe out. _No. Please, no. _He stares at the white ceiling (so he's in a room, probably hospital) and tries to find the strength to turn his head. It takes a couple of long minutes, but in the end, he does.

And there he is.

Sitting on a chair next to his bed (what is surely a hospital bed), casual and smiley as always.

"Travis," Wes breathes, barely audible. The name burns him in every possible way.

"Hey, Wes. That was quite a close call," Travis says and oh, it's not _that_ smiley after all.

Wes feels he might throw up. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember. Memories come twisted and hazy. Some of them don't feel like they're his own at all. His head is confused, it's very unpleasant.

"I was shot," he says, because that part is considerably sure from the white-hot pain near his stomach. Wes knows how it feels to get shot.

"Yes," Travis confirms his theory. "But not just that. You were shot by one of your buddies in that… cult-thing."

Now that part stirs something very ugly in Wes's chest. The cult-thing. Yes, he remembers some names. Joe Caroll. And Edgar Allan Poe. And Roderick…

At this point, Wes can't hold it back anymore. He throws up. The world is spinning. Travis is shouting his name… His name?

Darkness swallows everything.

* * *

The second time he wakes, he feels slow and heavy.

"They gave you some sedatives," Travis offers an explanation, as if he's reading his mind.

_So he's still here,_ Wes thinks and it is terrifying, horrible and relaxing at the same time.

"Take it easy, baby," Travis hums. "Don't strain yourself."

But Wes can remember now. It's coming back to him, piece by piece. He is not Wes. Not entirely. He feels Roderick inside. Shrunk and dulled, but he is there. It explains why he's cuffed to the bed.

"Is it over?" he asks, even though he's not really interested.

"It is."

"Good."

He means it. The cult was something that taught him how to be Roderick. It was never about them, or Joe. It was about Wes. Or more like, it was about Roderick. Being him saved Wes from… And Roderick stayed, so everything else was unimportant.

Travis's sigh drags him back from his thoughts.

"Why, Wes?" he asks.

Wes allows himself to meet his eyes for one second. He quickly goes back staring at the ceiling.

"You know why."

"I never thought you would go this far."

"Well, me neither."

Silence sits down between them. It's strange. There was no such a thing back then… And Wes feels that this is where he has to stop thinking or else he might have another panic attack, despite the drugs. He wants to be Roderick again, but he can't, not with Travis eyeing him from the corner. He is tired. So very fucking tired.

He sleeps because there's nothing better he can do.

* * *

Wes stares at the ceiling. It is becoming a habit of his. It's quite relaxing, actually. Someone opens the door. _It was time,_ Wes thinks. He expects Ryan Hardy. He _hopes_ it's Ryan Hardy, because he is the only one, who would kill him without a second thought. After what he did to him (well, to his friend) it'd be understandable. What's more, it would be welcome.

Ironically, it is a Ryan, but not the one Wes wants to see.

"Hello Wes," says Dr. Ryan.

"How come they let you in here?" he asks and looks around for Travis, but he must have slipped out of the room. How typical.

"Well," she starts a little sheepishly while sitting down in the chair previously occupied by Travis. "Even though you won't get the deal that Agent Hardy promised you, you still led them to Joey Matthews, so I was able to step in for you."

Wes grimaces. "Meaning?"

Dr. Ryan doesn't even flinch at the cold tone. She keeps up the soft, pitiful face. That's a professional for you.

"Meaning, that I explained your… situation to them."

"My 'situation'?"

"You need help, Wes."

And Wes has to laugh at that. Yes, right, help. He can see where this is going.

"The FBI is not very fond of the idea," she goes on, "but Captain Sutton and others from the LAPD stood up for you, so they will let me take you to a suitable facility."

Suitable facility. The English and their fancy way of putting things. But it is a sensible idea, he has to give her that. His mind is indeed very broken, after all.

"I, personally, will be in charge for you," she adds.

Wes can't keep quiet about that. "I don't want to hurt your feelings Dr. Ryan, but I don't think I'm in need of couple's therapy anymore," he says as his cuffed hands curl into fists.

"No. But I have experience with cases like yours. And I feel responsible. I want to help you, Wes." She stands. "Besides, I think it'll be easier for you with someone you know."

She gets no answer. She sighs and walks to the door.

"We're leaving when you are well enough," she says and steps out.

_Hilarious,_ Wes thinks. Fucking hilarious.

* * *

Travis is back the next morning.

"Don't you get tired of sitting here all day long?" Wes asks him around noon.

"No," comes the simple answer.

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Okay."

Wes frowns at him and demonstrates his determination by not uttering a word until nightfall. Travis stays anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, Wes, let's go backwards, shall we?" Dr. Ryan shoots him a shining smile.

Wes sighs. It's been three weeks since he was moved to this Stepford-wives-like place. Everything is in pastel colours and everyone is kind and understanding… up until a certain point. On occasion they do show that this is a mental hospital, not a nursing-home. And the others mess up the picture too. He never knew there were so many shades of crazy.

But Dr. Ryan is truly gentle; she tries so hard, that Wes almost feels sorry for her. He thinks it is a lost battle. She came by a lot when he was recovering and now they have sessions every second day. Wes hasn't really said anything yet.

Travis keeps nagging him about it. He thinks Wes is being cruel to Dr. Ryan and she doesn't deserve that. He also thinks that Wes needs to get better and in order to get better, he needs to speak. Wes doesn't want to speak. But he is tired of Travis's whining.

"Okay," he says finally.

Dr. Ryan's face lights up. "Excellent. So, why were you in hospital?"

"I was shot."

"By whom?"

"By… " Wes hesitates for a second. He almost hears Travis's voice. _No backing out now, baby, go on._ He does. "By the members of Joe Caroll's cult."

"Why did they shoot you?"

"I was part of it too, but I wanted out."

"Why?"

"It worked for a while, but things started to slip from control. I no longer wanted to take part in it. Joe's mission was not that important to me."

"Then why did you join?"

"I… what I said to Claire Matthews was true. It was a place where I didn't have to pretend."

"Pretend what, Wes?"

"That I'm okay."

"I don't think anyone wanted that from you back here."

Wes chuckles darkly. "You don't think? Well, I do. No one had any idea about… Don't get me wrong, I don't blame you, or Captain Sutton, or anyone. You didn't know. But I had to get away."

Dr. Ryan looks at him intensely, as if she's trying to see what's inside his head. Wes is very grateful that she can't.

"But you didn't only get away," she says quietly. "You tried to _erase_ yourself, Wes."

_Tried and succeeded,_ Wes wants to say. He doesn't. It is not fully true, is it.

"Tell me about Roderick," Dr. Ryan asks cautiously.

The air freezes in the room. Wes feels the ice-cold stone in his chest stir. Right. He can't keep avoiding this. What does it matter anyway? At least Travis will be satisfied with him. Which, again, doesn't matter at all, of course.

"Roderick is a part of me that's strong enough to keep going," he says slowly.

Dr. Ryan swallows and tries to keep her voice casual. "You've created him quite a story. Family background, schools, even the link with Joe Caroll."

"He helped me with that part. He was the writer after all."

"I see. What do you think about him?"

"About Joe?"

"No, about Roderick."

Wes stares at her a bit stunned, not sure how to answer.

Seeing his confusion, she says: "For example, I think he is a murderer." She states it in such a normal way that the whole conversation redefines the word 'surreal' for Wes.

"I would say, that he can do things I can't."

"I don't think that's what one would call 'strong'. No, there is something else, isn't there, Wes?" She doesn't really ask.

Wes decides he's done playing for today.

"You already know the answer," he growls.

"Yes, I know. I'm not sure about you."

"I'm not an idiot. Of course I know."

She leans forward. "Wes, I need you to say it."

It is getting unbearably hot. He feels his blood leaving his face, but rushing madly everywhere else.

"Fine," he hisses. "But you don't understand at all."

He stands and stomps towards the door. He stills for a second, one hand on the doorknob. Before rushing out, he turns, and says it while locking eyes with Dr. Ryan.

"Travis is dead."

* * *

"That wasn't very nice," Travis says when he gets back to his room.

"Fuck off," Wes grunts.

"No," he is suddenly very serious. "I'm not fucking off again."

"You make me go crazy, Travis. I mean literally."

"Based on recent experience, not as crazy as you get when left on your own."

Wes growls and collapses onto the bed. He closes his eyes and digs down to find Roderick.

"Wes, don't."

He doesn't feel the fingers around his arm, but somehow he knows they are there.

"Don't shut me out. It's not good for you. Please?"

Wes sighs and opens his eyes. Travis is sitting on the edge of the bed and smiles weakly as he looks at him.

"I don't think I can do this," he whispers and the other man's smile fades.

"You can, Wes," Travis says softly. "Just stop killing yourself."

"Look who's talking…"

"Yeah, but, as you so often pointed out, you are the smarter one, Mister Everything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better."

Wes barks out a humorless laugh. "What are you, a teenager?"

"I'm a child inside, that's why women adore me. Your inner person? He is no fun. No style at all. I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately? What's with the hair, man?"

"Shut up, Travis!"

* * *

It's not like in the movies. There is no better-days-worse-days crap. Wes feels more broken every week. He's been on this slope before, but this time, Roderick refuses to come to his rescue. He's not sure why. Maybe Dr. Ryan's therapy is working too well. Too well meaning that his dissociative identity disorder or who knows what is disappearing. But he can't say the same about Travis. At a point, he tells Dr. Ryan. Naturally, she says it's alright, it's very common, blah blah blah.

And what does Travis say?

"It's not in your head, Wes! I'm a ghost."

And Wes looks at him half baffled, half furious.

"You're not funny, Travis."

"I'm not joking damnit! Look, I didn't believe in this stuff either, but then…"

"But then? Do finish please."

"Then I died and there was the light and shit, man!"

Wes huffs. "The light 'and shit', very nice Travis, very spiritual from a ghost."

Travis makes a dramatically agonizing face. "I don't know anything about it 'cause I didn't go there, okay? I had to stay."

"For what? Unfinished business?" Wes asks sarcastically, realizing the other's silence only moments later.

"Travis?"

"You didn't look too good and I…" Travis makes sure not to meet his eyes. "I felt it was too soon to leave."

Wes sucks in a sharp breath.

"At least, we agree about something," he hisses and slams the door of his room on the other man.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months and Wes feels he's done. Roderick, his final refuge is gone, but despite all the tiring grief therapy, both Travis and the cold, hollow feeling in his chest refuse to even fade a bit. Maybe the two things are different – that's what Dr. Ryan would say. Yeah, because one is a supernatural creature and the other is denial – that's what Travis would say. And Wes would gladly take part in analyzing his own psyche if he wasn't so exhausted.

He was not a suicidal type of person to begin with, but after a considerable amount of time of this madness, he starts to think it would be best to just let everything go.

Travis watches petrified as he prepares.

Of course he prepares. His OCD is practically the sole thing that always remained intact. Funny thing, that. It played a heavy part creating Roderick too. Being maniac about little details makes one's act rather amazing. Wes sometimes wonders if OCD is the only real thing about him.

So he makes sure it won't be too hard to clean up. It's a pity he doesn't have a tub. Would be much easier.

"Wes, stop it." Travis finally finds his voice.

He doesn't answer. He's quite pleased with his work. They would need to dump the sheets and the mattress, but otherwise it would be fine.

"Wes. You hear me? Stop it!"

Now, the tool. Obviously, the patients don't have anything dangerously sharp or long in their rooms. He has to be a bit creative.

"I'll go, okay? I'll go away if you want me to, just stop!"

He grabs his toothbrush. Simple, plastic thing. Good. Those new, rubber ones would be impossible to break in the right way.

"Wes, listen to me damnit!"

The brush breaks into nice, pointy parts. Not sharp enough for a quick work, but he'll manage. He settles in the bed.

"Okay, that's it. You don't believe I'm a ghost? I'll show you, you mad fuck!"

A blink before Wes raises his stick to stab it in his wrist, the lights start flickering. He looks around, eyes wide, hand still in the air.

"What the-"

He lets out a surprised shout as small objects start flying furiously across the room. The door rips itself open, then slams, then starts again. The shelves dance, all books go crashing to the floor.

It doesn't last very long. There's a half-minute, when everything comes to stop and the only sounds are footsteps rushing towards the room. Wes stares into space, trying and failing to comprehend what just happened.

"Travis?" he asks voice thin.

There is no one in the room.

Nurses push through the hanging door and Wes panics, but not because of them.

"Travis?" he asks louder this time, as the stick is being ripped from his hand.

He is alone.

"Travis!" he shouts and strong arms are holding him down.

"Stay calm, Mr. Mitchell. Steady," they say and he knows what's coming. But he doesn't have the time to be sedated.

"No! You don't understand! He's not here! Travis!"

A needle enters his arm. He feels the pull almost immediately. The last thing he knows is his own frantic voice calling for a ghost.

* * *

"Wes? Wes, would you please look at me?"

Wes grunts and looks up at Dr. Ryan. Two sedated and three sleepless nights are behind him. He is not really in the mood for talking.

"Wes, I would like you to talk about that night."

"What is there to talk about?" he snaps. "You don't believe me, not that I can blame you, but it doesn't matter, because he's gone and you're not getting it at all."

"There's no need to be angry. You don't see Travis anymore, isn't it what you wanted?"

"No! Yes. No…" Wes stands up and starts pacing frustrated. "I didn't want to see him, because I thought he was a vision of mine. But that night he… The things he done, I wasn't imagining them, my shelves still have the cracks! My lamp's broken. You've seen it!"

"Yes, Wes, I've seen what you did to your room before you attempted to take your life. I'd prefer talking about the latter."

"But it wasn't me! I mean, yes, I wanted to do it, I felt tired and hurt and irrevocably insane, and Travis picks that exact moment to prove…" He slumped back to the armchair and clutched his head. "Oh, God, this is so typical of him. Say, why couldn't he give me a sign earlier? No, that would've been too easy. Let me think I'm crazy, it's totally fine. What is logic?"

He huffs and looks up again. Dr. Ryan sits in the other armchair with mouth slightly open, staring back at him.

"What?"

"You…" She blinks rapidly a couple of times. "It is the first time I hear you talking like this since… Wes, a moment ago, you sounded like yourself."

Wes stares back at her; it's his turn to be baffled. She's right. This mixture of irritation, frustration and concern is indeed familiar. A well known pattern. Something that reminds him of beaming smiles and food fights. His insides twist painfully. He frowns.

There's a coffee table with papers and pencils between them. He starts organizing the pencils according to length.

"He's gone now," he mutters.

"It's the way it should be," Dr. Ryan says gently.

_Is it?_ Wes wonders.

The afternoon passes quietly.

* * *

The next night, Wes can't sleep. Again. He lies in his bed and stares at the ceiling. He feels like he could use some change, so he gets up, goes to the window and stares at his reflection instead. For long months he didn't recognize the man in the mirror. Now, he is weary and sickly looking, but it is definitely his face. His broken, miserable face. Is it a development?

It's true. The hair looks odd. He'll ask one of the nurses to cut it in the morning. Maybe the opportunity to say 'I told you so' will draw Travis back…

* * *

"I told you so."

Wes jumps and almost headbutts the mirror in the common bathroom. Behind him, Travis snorts.

"And there goes your cop training."

"What? I should've heard you _coming_?"

He turns to make sure he's not talking to himself.

He's there. Travis is there.

Before he could realize what he's doing, Wes stretches his arm and grabs the other man's shirt. Or he would grab it, but he is clutching air.

"Not how it works, I'm afraid," Travis says on a low voice.

Red creeps up Wes's neck and he quickly withdraws his hand.

"You ass," he says and despite his heart's screaming, he turns around and heads towards his room.

Travis follows him. _Thank God,_ he adds mentally, and scolds himself immediately.

"Why am _I_ the ass, huh?" comes the banter from behind as he closes the door. The nurses wouldn't like him talking to ghosts on the corridor.

"Well, where should I start?" he turns to face Travis. "First, you let me think I was going mad all this time, when you could just, I don't know, bend a spoon or something to prove me that you're not from my head."

"But I told you!"

"Travis! My imagination can tell me whatever I want to hear!"

"But I-"

"I'm not finished. Second, you finally decide to show me, ah, but no, not a single trick, that would be too boring, no. You wreck my room instead! Everyone here thinks I did it, so they kept me sedated for two days!"

"What? Two days? That's-"

"_Third_, after your little performance, you go missing for twelve days!"

"Are you done?"

"No! I _called_ you Travis! All this time I wanted you to go away and when I actually _ask_ you to come back, you don't!"

Wes pants slightly. In front of him, Travis chews on his lips, clearly waiting for his fit to pass. He growls and turns away to lean on the window-frame.

"You okay?" Travis asks.

"Fine," he grunts.

"Alright, because it's my turn."

"What?" Wes almost laughs. Except that when he looks back to his partner, it dies in his throat.

"Yeah, I was gone for days _after_ I had to use up almost all my power to stop you. You idiot! What were you thinking, huh? How _dare_ you try something like that? And with me watching? No, man, not cool. Totally not cool. If you try it again, I swear I'll haunt you until you go mad _for real_!"

"I…" Words get stuck in Wes's throat. He feels relieved, so relieved that they are fighting, it's ridiculous. It makes him say something that's very much out of the ordinary.

"I'm sorry." Really, how do you define 'ordinary' when arguing with a ghost?

Travis's eyes widen. He steps a bit closer.

"I'm sorry too," he says. "You scared me."

Wes lets out a shaky breath. "And you me."

He looks up and Travis is beaming at him. "But that was some badass stuff, right?"

The moment breaks instantly.

"Badass?" he asks back, one eye twitching.

"Admit it, Wes, I'm a spooky bastard."

"Yes, you are a _bastard_!"

"Wow, how cruel. Especially after you fixed your hair for me."

"What? It was not for you!"

"Yes it was. It looks nice."

"Travis, shut the fuck up!"


	4. Chapter 4

"So you say, Travis is back," Dr. Ryan half-asks with a troubled expression.

"Yes." Wes tries not to sound too relieved.

"And he is here right now?"

"Yes."

She quickly scans the room, slightly disturbed. Travis waves to her smiling. She can't see, of course.

"Was he always here? Every session?"

"God, no!" Wes frowns. His ghost buddy would leave him alone for the sessions, but now…

"What's different now?" Dr. Ryan asks.

_I'm surrounded with telepaths,_ Wes thinks and says nothing. He can't really tell. Travis simply walked with him to the therapy room without a word, and he didn't ask him to stay away either. Maybe it was a long twelve days for both of them. Roderick managed longer with shutting Travis out. Wes somehow couldn't…

"Okay, you know what?" Dr. Ryan tries to be understanding and productive at the same time. "Let's presume that what you believe is true and Travis is a ghost. Ghosts are the souls of dead people, who stay in this world for a reason, right?"

"Right," Wes says cautiously.

"And I'm guessing that Travis's reason is you."

He blushes.

"According to him, yes," he mumbles.

"So he should be on other side where he belongs, but he can't go, because he is worried about you," Dr. Ryan continues.

Travis crooks his head a bit confused. Wes frowns. He doesn't like the direction where this is going.

"You're saying?" he asks coldly.

"Maybe you should put more effort into these therapies. Maybe you should try, _really_ try to get better, Wes. It would be good for you and Travis could move on."

"Whoa, wait a minute," Travis says, but Wes is not paying attention.

It overflows him like a big wave of cold, black water. Move on? Travis would leave him behind like before? And wouldn't come back? Vanish into nothing forever…

"Hey, Wes?" Travis is talking to him now, voice a bit frantic. "Wes, you are not breathing. Hey! Doc, you see this? He's not breathing! Tell him to breathe!"

"Wes?" Dr. Ryan sounds worried too. "Wes, breathe."

"You heard the lady, Wes, do what she says!"

Their voices are muffled by the water. Wes feels sinking. It's freezing and it's pitch black. It blurs his sight and yes, he would gladly breathe, but he can't. It swallows him, pushing him deeper and deeper. Roderick doesn't come to pull him out. Wes panics and chokes on his own scream.

He thinks he hits the ground. The rest is darkness.

* * *

He wakes up to his own coughing. He is lying on the ground. Dr. Ryan and a nurse are kneeling beside him. Travis is practically in his face.

"God, Wes, that was fucking scary!" He is shouting at him. It makes his head hurt. He growls.

"It's alright, Wes, relax," Dr. Ryan says, or rather orders. "Stay like this for a few minutes. You had a panic attack. Let your body recover."

They wait for a bit and then the nurse helps Wes to sit up and get back into the armchair.

"Let me see that head, Mr. Mitchell," she says. She has a first aid kit. Wes realizes he has a wound on his forehead only when she starts to clean it. He flinches. The sanitizer burns.

He can't wait to see her going out, because he wants to tell Travis to _get out of his face goddamnit_ and he is not very comfortable speaking with ghosts in front of strangers. They might think he is crazy…

Travis is not helping. He keeps swearing asking him if he's alright over and over again. Wes tries to signal 'shut up' with his eyes, but it's either not clear or totally ineffective.

He gets a small bandage and the nurse finally leaves.

"Stop talking already, I'm fine," he hisses as soon as the door closes.

Dr. Ryan looks at him surprised.

"Not you, him," he grunts.

"Yes, right," she shakes her head. "But you are not fine, Wes. That was a panic attack and from the worse kind. We are going to need to talk about it."

Travis's head snaps up to her. "Hey, back down, will you? He had enough for today!"

"But not today. You go and rest," she finishes.

Wes scoffs. If he wasn't crazy in the beginning, these two will do the work for him. Back in his room he collapses onto the bed. Even with Travis's eyes burning a hole into his back, he's fast asleep within seconds.

* * *

Wes doesn't go to sessions for the next couple of days. He is silent, just like in the first weeks. He has a lot to think about. Dr. Ryan seems to know this and leaves him be. Travis on the other hand...

He is hyper. He follows Wes _everywhere_ while blabbing almost constantly. "Wes, you should eat properly." "Wes, you feel alright? You look a bit pale." "Sit down Wes." "Let's talk, Wes." "Don't growl at me, Wes."

On the third day, Wes bursts into the therapy room.

"Wes!" Dr. Ryan is with another patient. "I'm glad to see you, but I haven't called you yet, and Roy is having a session right now."

Travis is on his heels. "Yeah, Wes, what are you doing, man? Are you alright?"

Wes stomps to the jumpy little man on the couch.

"Roy? I'm sorry, but this is an emergency. You understand, right?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He grabs Roy's arm and helps him out of the room.

"Wes, this is…" Dr. Ryan stammers as he strides back and sits. "What's the matter?"

Wes shoots her a dark look. "We need couple's therapy."

Everyone in the room stares at him with mouth hanging open. Travis recovers first.

"What? No-no, wait. I'm dead! I don't have to do that anymore!"

"Wes… I…" Dr. Ryan swallows before continuing. "First of all, I can't see Travis, if he's even here."

"Yeah, good point there," says the ghost.

"We'll figure out something," Wes offers adamantly.

"I'm really sorry, but I'm not sure I even believe you," the doctor says slowly.

Wes nods. That's a relevant point. He turns to Travis.

"Show her," he commands.

"Say _what?_" Travis shrieks.

"Show. Her." Wes grits his teeth to show he's not joking.

Travis is totally astonished. He hesitates for several seconds, but then he lets out a long sigh and steps to the table.

"I can't believe we're doing this," he says and concentrates. He reaches for a pencil. His fingers slip through it first. Not for the second time.

Dr. Ryan yelps as the pencil floats from the table.

"Satisfied?" Travis asks irritated and drops the pencil.

Wes leans back with a smug half-smile. "I am."

"This… How… You…" It takes some time for Dr. Ryan to recover. "Travis?" she finally whispers.

"Okay, one more time and that's all," Travis says and grabs the pencil. He writes down a Y onto a paper on the table. It exhausts him, but he misses to be in the spotlight and the expression Dr. Ryan makes is totally worth it.

"My God…" she breathes.

Wes is losing his patience. "Yes, very shocking, supernatural and all. But the problem is that he is driving me _mad._"

Travis turns back to him. "Hey, chill out, man, I'm just trying to look out for you."

"You are not looking out for me, Travis, you are nagging me! You crawl into my face!"

"Yeah, and you know why? Because you won't talk to me, _or_ anyone else! You're not being logical, Wes."

"Logical?! I am talking to a ghost for God's sake!"

"I may be the ghost, but I'm not the one with issues here."

"You think? But you're still here, aren't you?"

"Now, easy there, bud. We don't want another panic attack."

"Fuck the panic attacks and fuck you!"

"BOYS!" They both jump at Dr. Ryan's voice. They forgot she's there for a moment. But she is and she is not happy.

"Behave, will you?" She massages her temples. "I need some time to digest this. You can come back tomorrow."

Wes frowns. "But-"

"_Tomorrow._"

Travis gulps and gestures towards the door (even though Dr. Ryan can't hear him). Wes stands reluctantly. They sneak back to his room in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Wes said they would figure something out. Well, they did. He would mediate between Travis and Dr. Ryan, who is shy at first, which is understandable, but they find the old patterns quickly enough. Old patterns, like arguing. A lot. The funny thing is that it seems to be the most efficient therapy for Wes. He would shout and banter and make sarcastic remarks more often – it does feel like coming back to himself. Not to mention that he has some anger to give away. On these sessions, he almost forgets that Travis is dead…

One night, he feels unable to sleep again.

"Travis?" he asks quietly.

"I'm here," comes the immediate reply.

For a minute or so Wes hesitates, but then decides to continue. "Do you think she is right?"

"About what?"

"About you. That you should be on the other side."

He hears Travis sigh. Cautiously he turns his head. The other man stands near the bed, leaning on the window-frame. Their eyes meet. There is something bothering in his expression. Wes frowns.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asks and sits up.

"You know Wes," Travis starts while sitting down on the bed. "I asked myself this question a hundred times. Especially when your creepy fellow took over and managed to shut me out." Wes flinches, but doesn't want to interrupt. Travis goes on. "I mean, I thought I was there to help you, but if you didn't want me to, then why, really? I lingered without a purpose and I had a lot of time to think. And what I gathered… To tell the truth, I'm a bit scared and ashamed, that's why I haven't told you yet."

Wes's throat is dry. He thinks very carefully about his answer. These moments between them break so easily and he really doesn't want to break this one. Somehow he feels in his gut that this is extremely important. Like when you're at a turning point and you can literally feel the change in the air.

"You've seen me at my best and worst, Travis," he says half-whispering. "Even below the worst, I guess. I think we are past the point where you should be ashamed of anything in front of me."

Travis looks away with a sad smile and nods.

"Dr. Ryan says that you have panic attacks 'cause you can't let go. But it's my fault. What I am doing is, by definition, haunting you. It's not that you need me to. The one who can't let go is _me_."

Wes tries to speak, but he can't. The tightening in his throat makes it impossible. He is gaping like a fish. Luckily, Travis does his best not to look at him.

"It seems I'm unable to leave you," he says. "It's hard to even stay at a certain distance. I'm not really in control of it. Ghost-stuff, I suppose… I am truly sorry."

"No, it's-" Wes has to cough to clear his throat. "It's fine."

Travis's head snaps up at him.

"What do you mean 'fine'? Wes, I can't move on, not even if you manage to, which you won't, exactly because I am _haunting_ you!"

Wes closes his eyes. Here it comes. "Travis, I shut you out entirely before, remember? And could I move on? No, not really. What's more, I seemed to take a bad turn from there. What do you think this means?"

It's the other's turn to gape. Of course he doesn't understand; _of course_ Wes needs to say it out loud. Damn.

"What happened to me, the whole thing… It shows that I can't do it either. What you just told me? Maybe I won't have panic attacks anymore because of it." He takes in a big breath. "I _literally_ go mad… without you…"

The silence is unbearably heavy. There is no turning point without tension. Such a cliché.

"This is…" Travis starts after too long, too horrible minutes, "This is very twisted, man."

Wes huffs. "I'm crazy, you're dead and we still do couple's therapy. What did you expect?"

They look at each other… and start laughing. The tension finally dissolves.

"Oh, my God." Travis catches his breath first. "Dr. Ryan will be so upset to hear this."

"Yeah." Wes wipes his tears. "I guess we're not 'moving forward' at all."

"It's okay, baby. We'll just have to learn how to work with what we've got, however insane it is."

"Travis, for once, you said something pretty wise."

"'For once'?! Go to hell, I'm a genius."

"Right…"

* * *

Wes looks around one more time. He doesn't want come back for anything later. In fact, he doesn't want to come back _ever_. The room seems clear. He grabs his suitcase and steps outside. He meets Dr. Ryan there. She is smiling brightly.

"Your taxi will be here in any minute," she says.

"Thanks."

After a second of awkward silence Dr. Ryan can't hold back anymore. She grabs his arms and pulls him into a hug.

"I am so proud of you, Wes!" She is fighting with her tears.

"I… I couldn't have done it without you."

She squeezes him harder at that. Wes tries to peel her off gently.

"Come on," he says. "It's not like you'll never see me again. I have to report in twice every week."

"I know, but still." She finally lets go. Escaped tears roll down her cheeks. "It was a long and difficult process, but you even passed the FBI's tests."

"They'll keep monitoring me anyway."

"That's only natural. I'm not worried though. You'll be fine."

"Yeah…"

The taxi arrives. Wes packs in his suitcase and waves to Dr. Ryan as the car moves out. It's a strange feeling. Strange, but not bad.

"Home awaits, baby," Travis says on the other seat.

Wes smiles and almost invisibly, he nods.


	6. Epilogue

"Let's try again!"

"It's okay, Travis, maybe this was impossible to begin with."

"Just one more time, please!"

Wes sighs. He wonders if this was a good idea. The book said some spirits can create strong bonds with the living. The strength of this bond can be developed to a point where the spirit would be able to do quite extraordinary things, using its partner as an anchor. One of these things is materializing temporarily, meaning it could touch and feel the living and vice versa…

Wes reads a lot of books lately. He began to collect every attainable writings on ghosts and spirits. Some of them proved to be very handy. But others…

"You know there is a lot of bullshit in those books." He wants Travis to be realistic. Ha ha, very funny…

"I know, I know! I just want to try one more time."

Wes sighs. "Okay."

They are sitting in front of each other in a circle of candles. They close their eyes and concentrate.

"Ready?" Wes breathes after about five minutes, looking up.

Travis meets his eyes and nods. They lift their left palms and slowly, very slowly close the distance between them.

When their fingers are supposed to brush, Travis's hand slips through Wes's. He swears and pulls it back.

"I was so sure this time," he says disappointed. Then he notices that Wes is frozen in his place.

"What is it?"

No answer comes.

"Wes?"

Wes looks up at him with glassy eyes.

"I felt something," he rasps.

Travis chokes on his voice.

Wes stares at his hand. "I felt something…"


End file.
